A History of Korea (58 page)

It appears, in fact, that both the tales of Ch’unhyang and Simch’
ng began not in written form but rather as orally transmitted stories used as songs in shamanistic ceremonies, a genre that ultimately developed into what we now call
p’ansori
(see below). The elaboration and transmission of these tales through a more definitive, written form were made possible by the gradual spread of the vernacular as a means of communication among those unable to acquire the high culture of literary Chinese. Despite the great effort that went into the creation of the native alphabet back in the mid-fifteenth century, for the most part the social elites shunned the use of what they called this “vulgar script.” Until the end of the nineteenth century, then, the alphabet’s usage and development remained consigned to the lower social orders and, significantly, females. But these groups discovered what is today commonly touted as the great strength of this alphabet—namely, its efficient simplicity and versatility—and likewise, beginning in the seventeenth century, there appeared a surge in mostly informal works employing the vernacular. Not surprisingly, the popularization of the tales of common people accompanied the increasing use of the Korean alphabet among the lower social orders. That these tales also featured compelling plots and characters (including historical figures), especially for the benefit of illuminating social injustices, likely also contributed to their popularity.

OTHER CULTURAL FORMS

P’ansori
, a distinctive “opera” genre that emerged in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, stands today as perhaps the best-known traditional Korean musical form. The singer or singers, accompanied by a drummer who keeps the beat and occasionally shouts responses and encouragement, recount a sprawling tale full of characterization, plot twists, and long monologues. The great challenge to the singers comes from the demand to voice several different characters as well as the narrator, and from the enormous stamina necessary to pull off a complete performance. The most popular works of the
p’ansori
repertoire, such as the “Song of Ch’unhyang” and “Song of Simch’
ng,” invariably date from the
late Chos
n era, and the successful transmission of these works through the ages owes much to the efforts of systematizers, in particular Sin Chaehyo of the early nineteenth century, who standardized the librettos and performance styles.

Mask dances (
t’alch’um
), a theatrical performance genre comprised of one to several characters dancing to accompanying instrumental music, also became standardized in the late Chos
n into the form that we know today. As the name suggests, the performers wore masks of exaggerated expressions representing the status and emotion of the characters involved. Their “dances” combined choreographed displays and spontaneous movements that, when supplemented by spoken dialogue, furthered the story along its trajectory. The different elements of artistic expression that went into this Korean version of the
Gesamtkunstwerk—
theater, music, song, dance, colorful costumes—usually served the purpose of satire. The aristocratic and other characters with pretenses to authority, including even Buddhist monks, were usually depicted with ridicule, as if this comedic context presented the most effective means of expressing the grievances of lower-status people. Not coincidentally, like Sin Chaehyo, the great systematizer of
p’ansori
, the creative figures behind the promotion and development of mask dances came from the ranks of the hereditary local clerks in the late Chos
n, the
hyangni
. Due to their administrative duties, these clerks were literate, organized, and able to measure the pulse of the local mood.

Examples of the final major art form of the late Chos
n, genre painting, have come down as among the most cherished and representative expressions of traditional Korea. Unlike dramatic singing and satirical mask dances, which boasted a history of development before their respective standardized forms of the late Chos
n, genre painting—the depiction of daily life—could not draw upon a definitive heritage before the eighteenth century. The extant Korean paintings preceding that period are mostly portraits, Buddhist works, landscapes, or drawings of plants and animals. In fact one has to turn all the way back in time to the Kogury
tomb paintings to find a similarly lively attention to people in everyday settings. But unlike these Kogury
wall paintings’ preoccupation with the social elite, the eighteenth-century genre paintings are concerned also with showing commoners and even low-born peoples. In style as well, due likely to the influence of Western painting techniques by way of China, one sees a turn in perspective and spacing that corresponded to the shift in subject matter to the commonplace and ordinary. So representative of “traditional” Korean life and culture have these paintings become that the two most prominent masters of genre painting are also the two best-known painters of Korean civilization—perhaps even the two best-known artists: Kim Hongdo, whose expertise extended to all other painting forms but is most beloved for his uncanny, sympathetic depictions of commoners and slaves (and the occasional aristocrat)
going about their daily lives (Image 12); and Sin Yunbok, whose beautiful pictures of glamorous courtesans and aristocratic lovers evoke scenes in the
Tale of Ch’unhyang
.